A House Made of Stars

It was ten years since Estelle came back to her grandfather’s house, her house. She was now older, much more accomplished and on her way to becoming a world renowned astronomer. But every time she thought about going back to that house, she couldn’t help but turn back into the little girl she was inside, allowing herself to feel vulnerable and lonely.

As she pulled into the driveway of the beautiful modern house which sat atop of the Swiss Alps, near Zermatt, she could see the warm sun being reflected off the windows. The house appeared as if it was floating, made almost entirely of glass, it looked out onto nature and the village below. She thought about how getting up here was always a trek but worth every second just to see this view. It was spring now and the mountains looked like they were singing, the lush greenery spread everywhere like wildfire.

As Estelle got closer to the large glass doors, she was afraid of what memories were waiting for her inside. She put the key in and turned it, opening the door onto a world she missed so much. Stepping inside, she could feel the emptiness now, the furniture still covered with linens, dust settling on the shelves, the stale air filling her lungs uninvited. She couldn’t reconcile that at one point this house was full of warmth and happiness.

It was ten years ago that she packed up her suitcases to attend university in Paris, full of excitement that she would be able to study the stars and the universe. Ever since she was a small child she was fascinated by them, always peering through the sunroof in this house to count how many she saw. But she was never able to count them all. She would spend nights sitting out on the long balcony that wrapped around the house, cuddled in a warm blanket, wondering what laid just beyond the black velvet sky.

Two months into her first semester at school, she received the news of her grandfather’s passing. In an instant, her world crashed around her, the ground falling away beneath her feet, taking away a piece from her that would forever remain empty. She returned one last time to the house to make the funeral arrangements and closed it up, letting it sleep for the next ten years. Since then, she couldn’t bring herself to come back, the house a constant reminder of how much she lost when she lost her grandfather.

Until today.

She navigated through the living room, the light grey walls missing the beautiful paintings that once adorned them, and caught her reflection in the round mirror above the mantel, her green eyes staring back at her. She was tall and slender, with long blonde hair pulled back in one loose braid, with peach lips and a slight scar near her brow that was uniquely her own from the time she fell while sledding. A silver locket shaped like a star, her namesake, shining around her neck.

Walking gently through the room, Estelle ambled towards the hallway just passed the grand piano that led to her old room. She remembered these familiar steps, these walls, these incredible views. Estelle always knew how fortunate she was to be able to grow up here. As she got to her bedroom door she noticed the familiar mahogany door waiting for her at the end of the hallway, beckoning her to come towards it. Putting down her bag, she hesitated for what waited for her beyond that door.

Her steps reverberated through the empty hallway as she walked towards it. As she finally reached it, she stood there, frozen, running her hand across the wood. It felt smooth and cold, not how she remembered it as a child. She grabbed the cold stainless steel handle and with one breath pushed the door open.

Her childhood memories flooded her like waves as she moved through her grandfather’s study, each one crashing against her skin stronger than the next. The surge of emotions bringing tears to her eyes.

She walked towards her favorite chair that sat near the fireplace and ran her fingers against the leather, aged with happiness. She sank into the chair like into a warm bath, taking in how much she missed him now more than ever. Missed his voice, missed his stories, missed how much he felt like home.

Pushing herself up off the chair she walked towards his desk, still as it was ten years ago. She didn’t want to move anything, fearing losing him even further in the process. When he died, she lost all the family she had ever known.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the familiar little black book. She reached down to grab it, the leather feeling tough but smooth against her skin. Suddenly, it was like she stepped directly into the past and was transported to her favorite memory.

The room came alive in front of her eyes. Filling with the sweet smell of brandy and firewood, the study was as she remembered it, filled with books in floor to ceiling shelves, a beautiful large desk covered with scattered papers, and an architect’s desk standing just to the left of it. She could see the beautiful cascade of snow piercing the night sky through the large window, her favorite leather chair sleeping next to the roaring fireplace. He was sitting right there at his desk, drawing, wearing his favorite blue and white striped button down shirt, grey wool trousers with suspenders, and his furry brown slippers.

It was December and they were perched on top of paradise. You could see the snowcapped mountains and the blanket of fresh snow that wrapped the village below to sleep, only tiny little lights peeking through from the distance. The silence and night settling in like old friends.

She saw herself again as a little girl in her long white nightgown, her green eyes shining with curiosity as her hair fell in curls around her shoulders. She was running into her grandfather’s study asking him to show her his new drawings.

He smiled, lighting up the entire room with his excitement when he saw her, his kind blue eyes following her every step. He got up from his desk and whisked her up into his strong arms, carrying her over to their favorite chair by the fire. Sitting in his lap, he would show her the sketches he kept in his little black notebook. Sketches of gorgeous grand houses, little detailed drawings of furniture, and scattered throughout, little portraits of Estelle, smiling, playing, sleeping.

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Show me the house you’re going to build me when I’m older!” she shouted as she leafed through the notebook, the pages dancing against her fingertips.

“My darling, I’ll build you a house made of stars, the roof will be made of moon dust, and the floors of sunshine,” he would say. The little girl would always giggle and say, “Grandpa, that’s silly, you can’t build a house out of that!”

“Why not?” He would ask her inquisitively. “Because those things are in the sky! How would you ever bring them down here?” She would rebuttal. “For you, I would find a way.” He always answered.

And so they sat there, every night, talking about building beautiful houses, his wise hands holding her like a fragile little doll. She would tell him different stories about each new drawing he would show her, who would live in that house, what their lives would be like. Estelle would often exhaust herself and fall asleep right there in his arms, the safest place she had ever known.

He would pick her up effortlessly and carry her through the long hallways with their glass windows that overlooked the mountains and the village below as he took in every moment, knowing life had blessed him with something special. Laying her down in her bed, he would tuck her in and kiss her forehead and say, “Until tomorrow my darling.”

She was back in the empty study now, still holding the little black book. She sifted through the paper pages, much more delicate now, and noticed a single page missing at the very end. It was unlike her grandfather to tear out pages, especially from his favorite notebook. Estelle began to look through the study, hoping to find the missing page, moving papers and books, peeking under the furniture but she couldn’t find it. All of a sudden she was startled from her search when her phone started ringing in her pocket.

Pulling the phone from her back pocket she recognized the familiar number, it was her grandfather’s lawyer.

“Hello Mr. Samson, what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

“Ms. Luna, have you returned to your grandfather’s estate yet by any chance? There’s something I would like to go over with you if you have a moment,” said Mr. Samson.

“Actually what a coincidence, I’ve just arrived about an hour ago,” she said.

Mr. Samson, not sounding surprised answered, “I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all.” And added, “Would you mind meeting me there this afternoon?”

Estelle was a bit perplexed by his statement but answered, “Of course, I’ll be here waiting, see you then.” And hung up the phone.

Two hours went by as she continued to search for the missing page when she heard the doorbell ring.

“That must be Mr. Samson,” she thought to herself as she sprinted towards the door wondering what sort of business he had with her.

Pulling the door open, she welcomed him into the living room which she had uncovered during her search for the missing page.

“Thank you Ms. Luna, this won’t take very long, I know we had already gotten your grandfather’s affairs in order along with his will when he passed but there is one small thing he left for you and specifically asked me to hold onto until you returned home.” He said.

“That’s a rather odd request,” she said.

“I believe it’s because of the nature of the gift,” he added mysteriously.

Mr. Samson reached into his black leather briefcase and pulled out a small white envelope.

On the back was written, “Not all stars belong to the sky,” in her grandfather’s beautiful cursive writing. A quote by Angi Sullins and Silas Toball her grandfather had told her since she was a child.

Estelle was nervous about opening it but couldn’t contain her curiosity and excitement. Inside the envelope was the single torn page from the little black notebook that she was searching for. On it was a note in her grandfather’s handwriting that said:

Dear Estelle,

I built this house for you, I built it with my own hands. I brought down heaven for you.

50.3925° N, 5.9011° E

Love always,

Grandpa

With tears in her eyes, Estelle said, “I don’t understand, what is this?”

“Before he passed, your grandfather designed and began working on a house for you, all on his own. He always talked about building a house for you. When he passed the house wasn’t entirely finished but I was given specific instructions on how to move forward with the project.” Mr. Samson stated matter-of-factly. “The coordinates are where the house is currently located and waiting for you. I have the keys right here, and an additional $20,000 to help coordinate any moving expenses and to accommodate any changes or additions, should you wish to make them.”

Estelle sat there staring at the note, tears flowing from her eyes from a mix of joy and sadness. She was so appreciative of his gift for her but filled with the sadness of having to enjoy it without the love of her truest companion, her grandfather.

“He always promised me that he would build me a house made of stars, that the roof would be made of moon dust, and the floors of sunshine.” She recalled bittersweetly.